Scribbles and Things
by SilverSpring
Summary: A collection of random short drabbles that I haven't made into full stories.
1. Chapter 1

**Game Night**

* * *

Les Amis are finally off college for the summer following a gruelling set of exams, and they spend their first Friday night free at Marius-and-Cosette's, munching pizza and playing their way through the tower of board games that Grantaire has brought over.

Enjolras is in his element playing _Jenga_, building and rebuilding the ever-toppling stack of bricks, until Combeferre wisely puts an embargo on it and sweeps the whole lot back into its box.

In _Scrabble_, Jehan spells out ridiculously long words that no one understands, and things take a dangerous turn when Grantaire starts spelling rude words under the curious gaze of Gavroche, who's been allowed to stay up late to join in the fun.

(Combeferre puts an embargo on that, too).

Joly takes charge during _Operation_, nervously yelling "_Careful!_" as each player takes their turn navigating the intricate anatomy.

Things get heated during _UNO_ when Grantaire orders Courfeyrac to 'Pick up Four' 3 times in a row, and in the ensuing squabble the whole table of cards in turned upside down.

(They are both disqualified from all other games).

In _Monopoly_, Éponine seems to spend most of her time in jail. Enjolras bends the rules to bail her out, subtly handing her his 'Get out of Jail Free' card under the table, the smirks of his companions going unnoticed (and the despairing sighs of Combeferre the Banker blatantly ignored).

The night is brought to an abrupt end when Grantaire and Gavroche have a contest to see who can create the most noise during _Boggle._ (They never find out who wins, for by now Cosette has a pounding headache and the whole gang are kicked out of the house).


	2. Chapter 2

**Art Gallery**

* * *

She walks the banks of the Seine every Sunday on her way to the museum, when the mid-morning sun is filtering through the leaves and casting a warm dappled light on the artists who sell their sketches alongside the riverbank.

The Mus_é_e D'Orsay is her favourite place in the whole of Paris, and she spends hours meandering around the galleries, mesmerised by the graceful dance of Degas' ballerinas and gazing intently at the swirl of colour in Monet's water-lilies.

One Sunday before Easter she is perched on a bench before the _Moulin de la Galette, _eyes closed and peacefully soaking up the quiet of the museum, when a small cough right beside her interrupts the tranquil reverie.

"You know, the paintings look much prettier when your eyes are open."

She whips around indignantly to reprimand this patronising stranger, to remind him that art is something to be felt and understood, not simply stared at. But her reproach is cut short in astonishment, for the man looks like he has leapt straight out of one of the paintings, a statuesque vision of marble worthy of Michelangelo himself.

He chuckles as she stomps off hurriedly and haughtily, tripping over both her words and her feet.

(After that, she always runs the banks of the Seine without pause, for it turns out the stranger visits every Sunday, too).


	3. I Started a Joke

There's nothing Eponine loves better than a good dirty joke, and of a Friday night she is often to be heard from all corners of the busy café, cackling with Musichetta over the punchline of a new gag courtesy of Grantaire.

Enjolras, for his part, point blank _refuses_ to see the funny side of such crudeness.

He sits at the table across from Eponine as she smacks the table in mirth, crying with laughter over Grantaire's latest tale of the one-legged man and the healer.

Staring haughtily at the pair of them as they gasp for air, Enjolras wonders aloud how anyone could find such offensive garbage funny. The poor fellow had only one leg, after all, and frankly it was an outrage that such an inexperienced healer could be admitted into a medical establishment in this day and age.

This righteous, matter-of-fact proclamation sets Eponine and 'Taire off on another fit of giggles, and Enjolras sighs in exasperation, wandering off in search of some decent company.

(Later that night when her hiccups have faded away, and she is wrapped tightly around him and snoring lightly, he finally gets the joke, and has to bury his smirk into her hair).


	4. Chapter 4

Éponine loves to blog.

Whatever chance she gets, whether on the bus home from work, in the cafe with the boys or lazing in front of the television, she will constantly whip out her phone and scroll through her Tumblr dashboard; it's impossible not to like the cute cat gifs and pretty floral arrangements, and she says so haughtily to Musichetta, who only laughs and instructs her to get a life. Her favourite thing for a while was to reblog lists of questions for people to send her, the ones that spoke most of all to the lost and the lonely.

_Share one secret about yourself. Where would be your ideal place to live?_ _If you could pick one superpower, which would it be?_

Meaningless, really, but perhaps those long years of solitude have stirred in the girl a deep yearning to share. She still posts those lists occasionally, when the questions are especially interesting, but if truth be told she's lost all hope of receiving any asks about her life; no musical notes enquiring what her favourite song may be, no heart symbols looking for the name of her true love.

So on Saturday night, when Musichetta has gone out for a dance with the girls and she is left with a takeaway pizza and more crappy television shows, Éponine is startled to find a new message in her inbox.

"_Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?"_

Glancing at the url, she smirks and types her answer.

"_Depends on whether or not he brings me ice-cream."_

_..._

An hour later they are sat on the couch, his hands tangled in her hair and the two bowls of ice-cream forgotten and melting in the firelight. Pulling him closer by the collar of his red jacket, Éponine makes a mental note to thank Bahorel for suggesting last week that the gang play _Spin the Bottle_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Prince of Thieves**

* * *

"I'm a thief," he says dejectedly, chin in hands and staring at the unopened bottle of Coca Cola on the kitchen table.

"Oh for god's sake, it's only a bottle of pop, Enj - "

"Yeah, now it is, but what next? A widescreen TV? A diamond ring?"

"How on earth can you walk out of a shop with a TV _by accident_?!"

He glares at her.

"It's your fault, you know. You distracted me."

Grinning wickedly at the memory, Eponine shoves the last of the shopping bags into the kitchen drawer and sits down opposite the ashen-faced Enjolras, her feet propped up on the table.

"I only suggested we buy some whipped cream and strawberries. No one _said _it was intended for a repeat of last weekend, though I understand if that was still on your mind."

She bites back a laugh as he turns purple.

"Ironic though, isn't it?" Eponine says cheerily, crossing her legs. "Only yesterday you were yelling at me for getting a new salt shaker for the kitchen-"

"_You're not supposed to just take them from restaurants_!"

The pair fall silent and she watches as he drums his fingers on the table nervously, eyes darting back and forth between her face and the forbidden cola bottle.

"All those years spent lecturing Grantaire about the sins of antisocial behaviour and delinquents, and now I am one."

Eponine snorts.

"You're a delinquent because you forgot to pay for some Cola?"

"It's the principle! If I don't have my principles, what have I got? Stealing is stealing, Ep. It's wrong."

With a sigh, she pulls her phone from her purse and starts to dial.

"What are you doing?"

"Alerting the clergy."

"Oh very funny."

"Well don't be such a drama queen! If it's bothering you so much just take it back tomorrow - that's if they don't laugh you out of the store. You really need to stop being so uptight, Enj."

(He scowls at her.)

...

The front door slams and Eponine peeks up from the sofa, where she lies stretched out reading a magazine, a tub of icecream resting on her stomach.

"Well Robin Hood, did they arrest you? Were they sick with worry? Is the case of the missing Coca Cola finally solved?"

He stalks past her, eyes averted and nose in the air. "They laughed and gave me another one for free."

* * *

**Fin.**


	6. Things That Go Bump in the Night

**Things that go bump in the night**

* * *

_Bang_.

Enjolras bolts upright in bed, heart pounding. _What the hell was that?_

_Bang_.

A flash of light illuminates the entire room through the curtain, and for a brief second he catches a glimpse of his pale and startled face in the mirror, hair dishevelled and looking like he hasn't slept in weeks.

Heavy drops of rain begin to pelt against the windows of his hotel room as a roll of thunder erupts somewhere overhead.

With a sigh of relief he sinks back down into the pillows, willing sleep to return to him.

_Crash._

"What the-"

His eyes fly open in time to see Courfeyrac and Feuilly leaping through the door and landing squarely on top of his legs.

"It's just a thunderstorm, you idiots," he winces, rubbing his ankle where Courfeyrac's knee had jabbed painfully into it.

"Did you not hear those noises?"

"It's just the lightning hitting the hill."

"I thought we were under attack or something."

_Bang_.

With a whimper the two boys scramble under the covers and Enjolras sighs in exasperation.

"As the chief you should be taking care of us..."

"I'm not your bloody governess! What do you want me to do, sing about raindrops on roses?"

"Just move over and make room, will you?"

"This is unacceptable hotel decorum-"

_Bang_.

The room lights up and they all duck instinctively, just as the door crashes open once again.

Without a word, Éponine leaps onto the bed beside Enjolras, who stretches and kicks Feuilly out of the way to make room for her to snuggle in close to him, his back turned to the others.

"Oh, you'll let _her_ be afraid..."

"She's a girl."

"So?"

_Bang_.

"No, that was definitely a gunshot" Feuilly's muffled voice mutters nervously from somewhere under the covers, "_Ow_ – _stop kicking me_!"

"Too bad. You lot are supposed to be helping me in a rally next week, and I don't want a bunch of cowards who'll whimper if someone speaks too loud."

Courfeyrac pokes his head out to argue, just as another beam of light flashes through the room -

_Bang_.

His friend ducks under the covers once more, and, grinning, Enjolras turns back to Éponine.

Wrapping his arm tighter around her small frame, he hides his smile from Courf and Feuilly as Éponine presses a small and secret kiss to his collarbone.

He quite likes thunderstorms.

It's not every day they get to engage in public displays of affection right under the noses of the others.

* * *

x


	7. Chapter 7

Courfeyrac likes to play the bagpipes at times of stress, in an attempt to calm the group or add solemnity to important and monumental occasions. To spare his feelings, his friends simply endure the racket, their smiles etched fixedly upon their faces and Enjolras' foot tapping impatiently, like the ticking of a bomb about to explode.

On the night Marius announces his engagement, they almost believe that the noise will never stop, and Cosette's smile falters (although she insists that the tears in her eyes are born of happiness and excitement).

In an attempt to salvage the situation, Grantaire and Feuilly mime a dramatic and solemn dance, which makes them laugh but unfortunately does nothing to cure Joly's headache.

Upstairs, where Eponine has chased down Enjolras once again to seek comfort in his arms, the pair instead lay side by side in indignation as the bagpipes erupt through their eardrums like nails dragged across a blackboard. If truth be told, Enjolras thinks to himself, he is half dreading the day the rebellion kicks off, for the chosen date is drawing near and the prospect of such a fanfare may bring the enemy straight to their doorstep.

_Turns out you needn't have worried_, Eponine laughs at his scowling face weeks later.

(As the wailing screeches ring across the rooftops of La Rue de la Chanvrerie, the National Guard are deterred for yet another night).


	8. Chapter 8

They met on a train, one rainy afternoon when the sun came peering round the clouds at intervals, sending bursts of pale yellow into the darkened sky.

She doesn't quite know how it happened; one minute she was staring out the rain-streaked window, willing inspiration to descend from the heavens and tell her what to cook for dinner, and the next, she was blushing under the gaze of the young man sitting a few seats down the carriage.

She certainly hadn't banked on following him off the train and tumbling as one into his bed, not a word shared between them.

Perhaps it was the change in the weather, it made her irrational.

* * *

"Well."

Éponine sits bolt upright, covers tucked around her chest. "Never done _that _before."

"What?"

"Not that, I've done _that."_

"Thank God."

"I mean...you know. With a stranger. Spontaneous like."

"Stupid, even?"

"Yeah."

He smiles softly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm Enjolras, by the way."

There is a pause, before she reaches over to take his outstretched hand.

"Éponine."

* * *

There had been a rush to pick up their discarded clothes and redress, Éponine cursing all the while that she was going to miss her train and have to pay double for a taxi. Enjolras had desperately tried to keep up with her as she twirled around the apartment, tripping over his trousers and putting his shirt on backwards, in an attempt to ensure that she would not suddenly walk out of his door and out of his life, as suddenly as she had come into it.

"_But – no, wait! – will I see you again?"_

"_Maybe."_

She had run wildly for the last train home, leaving him with a vague promise that if their paths crossed again someday, she would accompany him for a coffee, but nothing more.

* * *

The cool autumn sunlight is shimmering upon the water, and as the train travels across the bridge into the city, Éponine Thenardier gives a sigh, resting her head against the window and clutching the lukewarm take-out coffee she had purchased at the station. The last two years have gone slowly, each day fading into the next, and the slow monotony of the workplace has painted dark bags under her eyes to match her crisp new suit. Some days it takes all of her willpower not to simply jump on a plane and chase the horizon. But here she is, on a long journey back to the Big Apple, the place she will call home for the next few days; long hours spent bored in meeting after meeting.

"Budge up."

Grunting, she starts out of her thoughts and shuffles further towards the window, moving her bag off the table for the gentleman to sit down opposite her. As he sits down, the sudden flash of curly blonde hair makes her drop the bag under the table, its contents spilling everywhere.

"Are you alright, dear? You look as though you've seen a ghost."

Emerging red faced from the floor, arms full of papers, Éponine glances at the young man before reassuring the elderly woman next to her.

"I'm fine. Just clumsy, that's all."

Giving a shaky laugh to ease the tension, she catches his eye again, and returns his small smile.

* * *

They walk side by side, fallen leaves crunching beneath their footsteps, unable to hide the grins spreading across their faces.

"So. I believe I owe you a coffee, ma'am."

* * *

"So I have a question."

"Fire away."

They are sitting by the window of a small cafe, lit snugly against the thunderous rain that is pelting upon the pavement outside, where disgruntled shoppers rush to and fro beneath their umbrellas.

"That time...before."

She feels herself blushing, but his gaze remains steadfast and unreadable.

"Yes?"

"Had you ever done that before?"

He shuffles in his seat.

"You mean-"

"With a stranger?" they say together, with a chuckle.

"No, I haven't."

She sighs in relief, then looks back at him once more.

"So, what happened?"

"I don't know. I just...caught your eyes. And for whatever reason, I couldn't look away."

* * *

"What are you doing tomorrow night?"

She raises an eyebrow at him.

"I'm just talking about an innocent dinner," he chuckles.

"Can't tomorrow I'm afraid."

"What about the next day?"

"Lots of work to get through."

"The day after that?"

"We'll see."

* * *

"And this is a Pissarro landscape from the nineteenth century -"

"Looks more like a Renoir to me."

The art museum is fairly quiet on Friday morning, and the pair wander around the rooms at their leisure, footsteps echoing upon the wooden floors. Delighted to receive the sudden notice that her last meeting was cancelled, Éponine had agreed to spend the morning with Enjolras, letting him give her a guided tour of the local museums.

"I've been round this gallery hundreds of times, I know a Pissarro when I see one."

She squints at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Hmm. My grandmother always told me not to trust a man wearing squeaky shoes."

"Oh, it's not the shoes, they just polish the floors in here real good."

"Well I reckon it's the way you walk."

He opens his mouth to protest, but she grabs him by the arm and pulls him toward the door.

"Come on, I want to find the Monets before I have to get back to the station."

* * *

As they climb the stairs to the third floor gallery, Enjolras can't help but feel a sharp pang of hurt that she is leaving him again so soon. The week has flown by, and he can't quite believe that it is time to say goodbye once more. The young girl just seems to drift in and out of his life on the wind, and he can think of no way to hold on to her.

"Do you think you'll be back again soon?" he asks casually, arms swinging in deliberate nonchalance.

"Who knows, it could be anytime really. Why?"

"Just wondering."

She looks across to him, where the rays of pale sunlight are glinting through the window frames and illuminating his golden curls, and wishes that time could stand still for just a little while longer.

* * *

"If you turn your head this way and squint, it kind of looks like a pig wearing a hat."

He cocks his head to the side and frowns.

"No it doesn't."

He turns to find she has disappeared, leaving him standing there like an idiot with head tilted to one side, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Flashing a small apologetic smile to the bemused gentleman behind him, he catches up to her with a grin and takes hold of her hand, pressing a small kiss to her wrist.

"Very funny."

They meander around the gallery for another hour.

* * *

He arrives back home to a note pinned on his bedroom door.

"Grand Central Station, 7.30pm, Sunday 5th March".


	9. Chapter 9

"It's a silly tradition."

Licking the spoon clean, Éponine adds a dusting of icing sugar to the last of the toffee apples.

"Well you're a silly man, but we can't have everything."

Enjolras frowns at her from behind his newspaper, spectacles balanced daintily upon the bridge of his nose.

"I just don't see why October 31st means we have to buy sweets for every kid in the neighbourhood and dress up like buffoons."

"'_Buffoons'_?!"

The door bell rings and Éponine squeals in excitement, straightening her pointed hat and dashing for the door, ignoring the roll of her boyfriend's eyes above the _Daily Gazette._

The kitchen is suddenly filled with excited voices as she returns with Cosette and Marius, who, to Marius' dismay and Enjolras's utter delight, have arrived dressed in matching cat outfits.

"We left it a bit late to buy our costumes."

"Nice tail." Enjolras smirks at his red-faced friend, wincing as Éponine swishes past him with a sharp pinch at his elbow.

"Be _nice_."

"Oh, we know what he's like," Cosette titters. "That mask on the door is _scary _by the way_..."_

"Enjolras likes to frighten the trick-or-treaters," Éponine sighs. "He loves the whole thing really, just indirectly so."

"I don't _love _it, Éponine. The mask is there as a deterrent to them, nothing more."

"Well what's the point of having all these candies if-"

They all start as a chorus of high-pitched squeals sound in the night, followed by the patter of little running feet in the driveway.

"And I don't see why you have to have the damn thing rigged to _light up_ when they reach the porch."

Lowering his newspaper, Enjolras opens his mouth to argue, when the kitchen door swings open and he is interrupted by the arrival of zombie-Jehan and Joly, who is white as a ghost beside him.

"That mask nearly gave us a heart attack! We would've lost Joly with all those kids if I hadn't grabbed him back-"

Jehan dumps a packet of Hallowe'en snacks on the table and plops down in the seat next to Marius, who has begun to chew on the end of his tail.

Éponine gushes over his choice of costume, but her face falters as she turns her attention to Joly in his plain white coat. "And yours is...yours is great too. Um, what are you supposed to be again?"

"A witch doctor!" Joly perks up in his seat and stares around happily at all of their blank faces, pulling a glittering wooden stick from the pocket of his white overalls and brandishing it excitedly.

"Get it? A witch..._doctor. _For Hallowe'en. Because I'm a _doctor. _Which is also a witch_. _As in witch doctor. Would've been better if I had had my stethoscope too, of course, but I never thought of it at the time._"_

The awkward silence is broken as the door bell rings once more, and three more of their friends enter the tiny kitchen behind a beaming Éponine; Combeferre (the vampire), Courfeyrac (Napoleon) and Grantaire (in an oddly familiar red jacket and black necktie.)

"_Guess who I am?!"_

Grantaire pulls a sombre face and sticks his nose in the air with a pompous flourish, and the room erupts in laughter.

"Hey, why aren't you dressed up, Chief?"

"He _is_ dressed up, he came as a bad mood."

Enjolras glowers at Éponine, and turns to Grantaire, who is now stuffing his face with chocolate peanuts.

"Some of us have better things to do than rifle through our friends' wardrobes, 'Taire. The jacket and tie better be _all _you've taken."

"That's enough." Éponine reprimands. "Now who wants a toffee apple? I think they're ready-"

"Oh, me!"

In his haste, Joly knocks the tray flying from Éponine's hands, and they all gasp as toffee apples soar through the air in all directions.

Cosette shrieks indignantly as one of the sugared treats gets caught in her hair, and everyone watches in shocked amusement as Marius whips round to help her, tail flying out and catching Courfeyrac square in the eye.

"_OW!"_

Shoving a cackling Grantaire to the side, Jehan lunges for some ice from the freezer, and Éponine, hat askew, grabs a pair of scissors and rushes to help a wailing Cosette, whilst Combeferre slaps a hand to his face in the uproar.

The front porch suddenly lights up once more and a deafening chorus of screams sound outside, stunning the group out of their hysteria.

"Oh for god's sake, that bloody mask!" Éponine groans, reaching out to pat Cosette's shoulder, whose own howls have dwindled to a shaky silence.

Enjolras glances in amusement at each of his jittery friends in turn, before reaching languidly for the last remaining toffee apple and taking up his newspaper again.

"You know," he smirks, "I'm starting to quite like Hallowe'en."


	10. Chapter 10

**_"Pillow Talk" _**

Enjolras talks in his sleep all the time, mumbling and grumbling about all kinds of utter nonsense, and occasionally letting stuff slip that he'd never admit to otherwise.

Eponine is more than happy to play along, teasing and dropping hints about these revelations during the daytime as she potters around the apartment, desperately trying to hide her smirk from his wide eyed stare.

(He can never quite work out how she's so insightful).


	11. Chapter 11

**Read All About It**

A shriek erupts from the hall and Azelma peers over the top of her book, eyebrows raised, half in curiosity and half in indignation at having been interrupted at a particularly suspenseful part of the chapter.

The door bursts open and Eponine barges in, brandishing a newspaper furiously in mid air.

"I am _humiliated_."

"What?"

"He put it as the headline. I was _joking_. Couldn't he tell I was _joking_? IDIOT."

She thrusts the paper at her sister, who straightens the pages lovingly before turning her attention to the front cover, where a large black and white photograph of a familiar surly face dominates the bottom half of the page. Tentatively, she reads the headline aloud.

"Girl, 17, Sees The Sea For The First Time."

Azelma lowers the newspaper and flashes her fuming sister a quizzical look.

"Ep, we live in a seaside town."

Eponine heaves a dramatic sigh and clasps her hands to her face, sinking down to the sofa.

"I know, and so does the rest of the country. I'm going to be a laughing stock. The postman already told me to try the outdoors sometime. And he was smirking as he said it, I could tell."

There is a pause, the only sound in the room coming from the ticking of the grandfather clock.

"Um, Ep? Why exactly..." Azelma trails off, uncertainly.

Eponine snaps upright in her seat.

"_Because_, he kept _pestering_ me to say something interesting about the new beach huts and attractions they have along the pier, even though there were plenty of other people around he could have asked - I mean, it was the _grand opening_ for god's sake, and - and I got exasperated and a little sarcastic."

"Well."

Azelma gives the newspaper a little shake, before dropping it to the floor beside her.

"We always knew the guy was sweet on you. I guess this is what you get for all those times he asked you out to the dance, and you laughed in his face. It's certainly what you get when you encourage him to become a journalist and then insult his work. I told you your sarcasm would come back to bite you on the ass one day."

Eponine responds with a heavy groan from behind her hands.

* * *

Two miles away in a little pub by the harbour, Enjolras receives a slap on the back from a cackling Grantaire.

"I can't believe you actually published it. Eponine's gonna be _pissed_."

* * *

x


	12. Merry Christmas

AN: Merry Christmas everyone! :)

* * *

**_Silver bells, silver bells_**  
**_ It's Christmas time in the city_**  
**_ Ring-a-ling, hear them sing_**  
**_ Soon it will be Christmas day_**

* * *

With a loud 'Hmph!', Éponine falls into the empty seat beside Courfeyrac, plonking a large bundle of polkadot umbrellas on top of the table and sending the bowl of peanuts scattering in all directions.

Les Amis watch on in amused wonder as she rips open a large carpet bag and ungracefully deposits four more bundles of umbrellas on the table; Feuilly lunges to salvage his drink before it topples to the floor.

"Jeez, Ep, you're gonna have someone's eye out with all those."

His exclamation is met with a sigh and a thump as a final bundle of umbrellas is dumped on top of the others.

"Well I hope we don't get the weather you're expecting."

Poking her head around the side of her cargo, Eponine shoots a dirty look at Grantaire and _hmphs_ once more. "They're not _mine_. We're running out of storage space with all this new Christmas stock coming in, so we have to keep some of it at home."

"Um, Mary Poppins?"

From behind the barricade of umbrellas Eponine can just see the top of Enjolras' curly head, eyebrows arched in disapproval, and braces herself for the onslaught.

"Where exactly are you planning on keeping all these?"

Eponine sighs. "It's not for much longer, Enj, just until we get all this stuff sold."

"I'm sick of tripping over the entire contents of your winter catalogue just to go to the loo in the morning -"

"Then go at night."

"And since when do we need so many fridge magnets? There's no room left for my To Do lists-"

"Haven't you ever heard of a mind map? Or a _pocket_?"

"And all those boxes of singing elves, I mean I don't mind Christmas carols but 'Deck The Halls' starts to get tedious when it's constantly playing in the background-"

"It's not my fault they go off so easily-"

I'm gonna start charging ground rent-"

Their friends' heads swivel in unison as the couple bicker from either side of the stack of umbrellas, until at last Eponine rolls her eyes with an angry sigh.

"_Fine_, I'll get rid of some of it. I'll buy them all and use them as Christmas presents, is that better?"

Courfeyrac gives a loud groan.

"Ugh, it's not gonna be like those damn mugs you got us last year, is it?"

Enjolras whips around indignantly.

"I believe_ I_ was the one who got you those. And you said you liked them."

Grantaire leans back to swing on the hind legs of his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

"We did, Chief, they were fab. And international, too. '_My friend went to Paris and all I got was this lousy coffee mug'_. Excellent."

Enjolras narrows his eyes. "It didn't say that on them."

"No, I wrote that on it."

"You ungrateful little shi-"

"_Alright_." The ever-composed Combeferre appeases his friend with a soothing pat to the shoulder. "I for one liked that coffee mug, I use it for pens at work. And Eponine, if you'd like, you can keep some stuff in our spare room – Joly's thinking of turning it into a makeshift lab so I'd be grateful for the intervention."

"That'd be fine," Enjolras says immediately, pointedly ignoring the shooting glare from behind the stack of umbrellas.

The little group of friends sit in silence for a while, watching the people coming and going through the door of the café, bringing with them an icy wind. Combeferre makes a mental note to thank Madame Hucheloup for the roaring fire she kindles in the corner of the room every evening, at just the right distance from his favourite armchair.

"You know," Jehan murmurs dreamily, leaning across the table and slowly stirring his cappuccino. "I've always wondered what Christmas would be like in a hot country, somewhere far away, near the Equator."

"Hotter," Enjolras says matter-of-factly.

"I'd love to be sat on a hot beach right now-"

"How could you give up Christmas as home, Jehan?" Eponine chips in. "You of all people. Cold weather and fairy lights and warm firesides, that's what makes it magical."

Shivering, they all whimper and resentfully draw their coats closer around their shoulders, as the door swings open once more.

"It's almost cold enough for snow out there!" Cosette says happily, setting her bags of shopping in the corner and taking a seat next to Grantaire, as Marius goes off in search of two hot drinks to warm their hands. Shifting his weight to lean upon the other elbow, Jehan continues to stir his cappuccino, and eyes Cosette sleepily.

"What's with all the bags?"

"We've been buying all your Christmas presents!" she replies brightly. "No peeking, but let's just say you'll all be _decking the halls_ with an extra bounce in your step this year."

Cosette nudges Eponine's shoulder with a wink, but to her shock and dismay, the whole lot groan and get to their feet to leave, muttering incoherently and clearing the table of scarves and wallets and an _awful_ lot of umbrellas; the door of the café bangs shut behind their bickering voices.

Marius returns with two gingerbread lattes, and sits down beside Cosette.

"Just us?"

Cosette nods, bewildered by her friends' behaviour.

"Well, two's a crowd, eh?"

Leaning in, he clinks their glasses together and gives Cosette a quick peck on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas."

* * *

**x**


	13. Chapter 13

**A Change of Plan**

* * *

"My parents' friends keep hinting at a chaise longue, but those things are so old fashioned and big it would look ridiculous, I mean where would we even put one of those in this dinky little place? And it's hardly a priority right now."

Éponine has been chattering nonstop for the last half an hour.

Enjolras is quite sure of this, for regular glances towards the little alarm clock in their bedroom have left him is constant surprise that the passage of time has not, in fact, been longer. He wraps his arm more snugly around her waist and sighs into her neck.

"I mean, supposing we divide up the money that your grandparents and my Aunt Christine gave us, we could put half towards important electrical appliances and half towards kitchen utensils – we'll need a lot, and then the money left over from other family and friends can go towards general stuff like towels and curtains and storage. Oh, but then we should probably focus on decorating first, shouldn't we? The walls are so bare it looks awful. We can't start fitting wardrobes and shelves before we've painted." She chews her lip thoughtfully. "But then we can't very well live here without furniture, unless we ask my father for a loan of his garden deckchairs and table. We'd need to clean it of course, but it might do for now."

Enjolras listens to it all with a dazed expression, exhausted before they've even begun, and his mind drifts back to the previous day. The wedding had been a quiet affair, simple and relaxed. He finds himself longing for such peaceful bliss now, and is startled to hear his own voice blurting out a suggestion in the midst of Éponine's monologue.

"What if we don't use the money to decorate at all?"

Éponine pulls back from his grasp to study his face. "What?"

Enjolras shifts uncomfortably. "I was thinking, maybe, of something else."

"You mean go with furniture instead?"

"No…" He toys with the edge of the duvet.

"Then what _do_ you mean?"

"I thought, maybe…" Enjolras chews his lip thoughtfully, prompting Éponine to poke him playfully on the chest in mock exasperation.

"Thought _what_?"

"I passed by the travel agents the other day in town. They had an advertisement for a package holiday in Italy, and…well, if we were to convert the money altogether as one lump sum, we would have enough to go."

"But our parents -"

Enjolras cuts her short, mumbling on in deep thought as his fingers trace patterns across the lines of her shoulder.

"It starts in Venice. We would have a few nights there. I've heard it's beautiful at this time of year, all autumn mists and dusky sunsets reflected in the water. We'd almost have the place to ourselves since it's out of tourist-season. Then we'd travel by train down through Tuscany, and stay in Florence for a little while. We'd see the Ponte Vecchio, like you painted in art class. Then to Rome. With love, obviously. You've always wanted to see Rome. You could bring your sketchbook."

He grins sheepishly at his own joke, sees her solemn face and hastily continues.

"As for the money, well - " He shrugs, gesturing vaguely at the walls of their little bedroom. "We already have the house. Maybe we won't be here forever, certainly not when we have kids, but Ep, we have _years_ to decorate. And when the time comes to do everything bit by bit, won't it mean more if it's our _own_ money, our own money that we've earned ourselves? Wouldn't it be better to be able to look at, say, a soup ladle or a gravy boat and think _wow_, that's really ours, not some weird gift from Courf and Jehan? Who cares if it takes us years to finish the place, if we have to use deck chairs as lounge furniture for a while? It'll be an adventure, it'll be _our _adventure that we created, and in the meantime we'll have priceless memories that'll last a lifetime, memories from our honeymoon that will never break like a refrigerator would, that we'll never have to replace, or, or…"

Enjolras trails off uncertainly. His wife is silent, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"So…what do you think?" he asks nervously.

She props herself up on one elbow and stares down at her new husband. Enjolras returns her soft gaze, peering up at her through sleepy eyes that are both wary and hopeful all at once. So he had listened. Turning her head to look out the window, she recalls a morning just like this one, when the sun had peeked out at intervals through fluffy white clouds, and the birds were singing their sweetest melodies; when she had declared to her new group of college friends that one day she would sit on the Spanish Steps with her sketchbook and watch the world go by.

_An airline ticket to romantic places._

A small cough calls her out of her reverie, and Éponine turns back to see Enjolras still gazing at her, the same mixture of love and slight fear etched into his features, the same question in his eyes.

_What do you think? _

The sight prompts her to burst out laughing and lunge forward to smother his face with kisses.

"I think I love you even more than yesterday."

* * *

When the newly wedded couple buy their first teapot, they are ecstatic.

The elderly shopkeeper waves them from the hardware store, recalling days gone by when she herself was young and in love. She had danced through the door of her own tiny house with her husband the day after their wedding, twirling about in a mad whirlwind of happiness, their laughter echoing through the still-empty rooms. They had been innocent, naïve even, but their life had been full and happy.

The old lady chuckles as she returns to the counter, the young couple's conversation of cobbled streets, huge cathedrals and little bridges over canals still echoing in her mind. How funny that they should have picked the very same cities.

_Oh, how the ghost of you clings._

Later that night, when she is tucked up in her own bed, she is still thinking of the young couple as she drifts off to sleep. And in her dreams he is there beside her once more, golden curls gleaming in the autumn sunshine as they navigate their way through the oldest parts of the city, map in hand. The cracked cobblestones of the alleyway are warm beneath her feet, and she thinks, _yes_. _With you at my side, I am always home. _Their fingertips brush together as they emerge into the light of the square.

And when the morning light taps gently at the window and stirs her from her slumber, she laughs and laughs, and the tearstains shine upon her cheeks.

_"How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss; and ah, how old my heart!"*_

* * *

**_Fin._**

* * *

**_* William Butler Yeats, _**_Ephemera_

_Song lyrics throughout from **These Foolish Things (Remind Me Of You)**_


	14. It's A World Of Laughter

**It's A World Of Laughter**

**_Headcanon in which Les Amis visit Disneyland the summer after graduation._**

* * *

Combeferre takes charge as group leader, steering them around the park with map in hand, their busy schedule for each day planned out carefully in a laminated timetable and a first aid kit tucked neatly inside their shared rucksack (at an anxious Joly's insistence).

Enjolras, for his part, is relieved to linger near the back of the group for a change; a holiday in which there are amusement parks is bad enough, but amusement parks completely overrun with giddy children and Grantaire is, quite frankly, taking the proverbial biscuit. (Not to mention the horror that is _It's A Small World_, which Gavroche _insists_ on returning to at least 3 times a day).

Courfeyrac spends a large portion of his day flirting with every Disney princess he can find, until a firm rejection from Tinkerbell sends him running back to the group, unabashed and laughing to find that, in the meantime, Marius and Cosette have purchased matching Mickey and Minnie Mouse ears, and that Jehan has been tempted by a string of flower crowns à la _Rapunzel_.

Eponine dashes excitedly to and fro around the park, beaming as she points out all of the attractions that her siblings enjoyed the most the last time she was here; between that and her rather fiery argument with a grumpy ice-cream vendor, Joly's nerves nearly reach breaking point.

(Still, when they settle down to watch the fireworks on their last night in the park, Eponine is content to sidle quietly up to Enjolras, and a contented hush falls over the little group of friends as coloured stars burst overhead and the music fades to a sleepy silence.)


End file.
